Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(85)

“I don’t know about everyone,” she said. “But Dax Harper is in Austin, Rey Santos got tied up with something in San Antonio, and I’m at Arnie’s getting gas.”

“Where’s the chief?”

“No idea.”

Nolan gritted his teeth. “Well, did you interview that clerk?”

“Yes, and he confirms the guy in the Austin police sketch is the same guy he saw.”

“Hey, that’s great.”

“Yeah, what’s not great is that APD wants to release this.”

“What do you mean?”

“They want to put it on the news and set up a hotline,” she said. “See if we can get an ID from the public.”

“What the fuck? That’s the fastest way to tip this guy off. We need to circulate this thing locally, see if we can get an ID on him, and then close in on his location before he figures out we’re on to him and has a chance to bolt.”

“I know. I told them that.”

“Damn it. Call Hank. Fill him in on the situation. He’s friends with a couple of lieutenants there. Maybe he can convince them to wait.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll do it.”

“And I also need you to call Rey Santos and ask him if he’s come across the name Will Merritt anywhere. That’s spelled with two t’s.”

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“A magazine writer who did some work in this area. Sara thinks he might be a suspect, and we need to see if he has a sheet.”

“Okay, but why don’t you call Santos?”

“I’m driving. I’m heading out to the Hansen place to interview the widow again. Everything she told me in our interview is crap, and I want to know why she lied to me.”

“You think she’s protecting someone?”

“If she is, I’ll find out,” he said. “And send me that sketch, would you? If he’s local, I might recognize him.”

“I didn’t.”

“I’ve lived here longer than you have.”

“Okay, let me get Hank to lean on APD, then I’ll work on the rest.”

They clicked off, and Nolan trained his gaze on the road. His pulse was thrumming like it did when a case started to come together.

The unsub regularly bought gas at Arnie’s, which meant he probably lived nearby. It was a stronger lead than the magazine writer, but he’d promised Sara he’d look into it, along with the lead about the ranch near the park. But first he needed to follow his gut, and at the moment his gut was telling him there was something extremely off about this thing with the widow.

Elaine Hansen had lied about donating an SUV to her church. She’d lied about having a receipt from Cook. And if Maisy Raines was to be believed, she’d lied about seeing Kaylin Baird at the movies with her “boyfriend” Tristan Sharp. Maisy swore Kaylin and Tristan had never been a couple.

Nolan tried to recall what he knew about the Hansens, but it wasn’t much. Todd Hansen had died last year, and he remembered they had a daughter, but she would have been ahead of him in school.

The Hansen place was on the outskirts of town, where the houses sat fairly far apart. Still, people tended to know their neighbors. Nolan hung a right at the mailbox and scanned the driveway, half expecting the phantom white SUV to be parked there. It wasn’t. Neither was the green VW. He eyed the garage, which he had assumed was used for the Mustang Todd kept on cinder blocks.

He parked and got out. Glancing at the shed and then the house, he decided to try the shed first. The flimsy door stood ajar.

“Mrs. Hansen?” He tapped lightly on the door with the back of his knuckles, and it swung open. “Elaine?”

He stepped inside the makeshift studio, which was hot and stuffy. The potter’s wheel sat silently in the center. A low creaking noise drew his attention to a kiln in the corner. A glowing red light indicated the kiln was on, accounting for the heat. Nolan’s gaze landed on some blocks of clay wrapped in plastic along the wall. Several of the bags were tied with purple twine.

Nolan stared at the bags, then looked around the room at the stool, the workbench, and the shelf lined with potter’s tools. Someone had tacked pegs into the wall, and from one of them dangled a twisted wire with wooden handles on the ends.

Nolan’s pulse pounded as he stepped closer. The thick wire was kinked from use. The wooden handles were smooth and rounded and smeared with dried clay. In strong hands, the wire could slice through a block of clay like butter.

He imagined what it could do to human flesh.

Nolan slid his phone from his pocket and dialed Dispatch. In a low voice, he relayed the situation and requested backup, then switched his ringer to silent.

Unsnapping his holster, he left the shed and approached the house. With his hand on the butt of his gun, he scanned the bushes and trees, then checked the windows for any sign of movement. As he mounted the steps to the front porch, muffled barks erupted behind the door. Lucy’s face appeared at the window as she barked and pawed at the glass.

His phone vibrated, and he checked the screen before answering.

“It’s too late,” Talia said.

“What’s too late?”

“Hank called, but they’d already released it. The sketch. It went on the news half an hour ago.”